The camera hit the floor and shattered into several pieces.

The man who smashed the camera was fuming furiously. He was trembling from head to toe, and his eyes darted here and there in search of something - anything - to pour his anger over. The other humans and demons in the filming warehouse glanced at each other in apprehension. Their apprehension turned into fear as the man turned and his gaze locked squarely on three demons with another camera.

The man began storming toward them.

The three demons, realizing what the man would do, slowly backed away with tails frozen in fear, leaving the camera. The man grabbed the camera from its stand, lifted it high up, and then smashed it down. The camera smashed into smithereens, and the man stomped and kicked on the shards. Every demon and damned humans watched him in terror - except one.

The one demon who calmly watched the unfolding scene took out a handheld camera from his sling-on bag. He turned the camera on and began filming the man. The man was now tearing down the green-screen and punching the spotlights, and nobody seemed to want to stop him.

After the man thoroughly thrashed the place, he jerked toward the director and yelled.

“To hell with his propaganda stuff! I’m leaving!”

And, before anyone could tell him that he was already in Hell in a quite literal way, the man was already striding out the side door and into the sunlight.

Sunlight flooded the man’s eyes as soon as he stepped through the doorway. He blinked a couple of times, then looked at the dusty sky. He could see the sun suspended there - only slightly dimmer than the sun he used to know.

A sun, in hell. Ridiculous.

His mind lazily considered the implication of this. Does that mean there was a whole solar system down there? He shook his head. No... not possible. More importantly, it was irrelevant now, whether the sun was 'real' or not. What was important was putting the distance between himself and the cursed film set as much as possible.

He glanced at the sun. It was beginning to sink into the mountains - he could see the HOLLYWOOD sign even from here, another ridiculous copycat of the original - which meant that it was late afternoon. He realized, only now, that he did not know where he should be heading. He glanced at the sun again, and then, slowly, began to walk toward it.

He shook his head. A Hollywood in Hell. Good grief. It was ridiculous, yet there he was, albeit this version lacked that certain polish the real Hollywood had. The color was somewhat faded like a sepia photograph, and demons with horns and tails walked around instead of humans, but this was still a somewhat remarkable copy of the Hollywood he used to know.

He began to retrace his steps in his mind on how he got here in the first place. The accountant demon assigned him to make films as part of his 'punishment'. As if he was the villain, or some kind of evil dictator who mass murdered innocent people by the millions. Sure, he'd admit that he stepped on some people's toes, but the punishment here was simply disproportionate. Maybe for some, a place where you make films day in and out might be heaven, but although he was an actor in previous life, he did not love acting. For him, it was always a means to an end. If he had his say he would have been anywhere else other than Hollywood.

Well, if he did have any say, he would not have been hit by that van at all.

He decided to stop thinking and focus on walking. As he walked west, further and further away from the warehouse, the scenery changed gradually. Palm trees started to line the streets, swaying in the gentle breeze. Colorful signs began to dot along the buildings, glowing in the setting sun. It was just like real Hollywood, except it was a bit worn down. He almost felt as if he was alive again. He inhaled deeply, catching the scent of Hollywood as he walked onward, blending into the crowd of demons, some of whom looked at him warily. He didn’t blame them - if someone with real horns and a tail walked along Hollywood up there, he would look at him or her the same way.

When he was about three blocks across, he heard a ruckus behind him. He glanced back and saw demons in suits, very clearly looking for something... or someone. The man hurried his steps as fast as he could without drawing any attention.

But it was in vain. He heard, from behind him, a demon shouting.

"There he is!"

Cursing under his breath, the man scanned the surroundings to see where he might be able to hide, but there were nothing but shops after shops. He gritted and strode into the nearest shop - the one with the sign ‘Devilish Joe’ above it. The scent of roasted coffee beans hit him as soon as he opened the door.

The man quickly approached the cashier.

"A medium hot Americano, please," he whispered urgently. But the demon cashier only stared at him - specifically, at his horn-less head.

"Quick! Give it to me!" he hissed. He shot another glance back and saw that the demons in suits were about to come in. He cursed, reached out across the counter and snatched an empty paper cup, then sat down hurriedly on a table next to the window.

Just as he took a seat, the demons burst in through the door. The man quickly began to sip the air inside the empty cup and looked out the sepia-toned view. The fear and exhilaration pulsing along his veins made him almost dizzy as he saw the demons searching the whole place. Once or twice, the demons passed right next to him, and Morett felt like he would actually pass out from the tension.

The demons finally regrouped around one particularly bulky demon.

"Sir, we cannot find him." one of the demons said. "Shall we ask around?"

"You fools," the burly demon with a bright-red necktie glared at his underlings. "I'll show you how it's done." The lead demon scanned the room, and then he pointed straight to the man. "That one doesn't have horns and a tail."

As soon as the man heard it, he threw the empty cup on the floor, bolted out of his seat, and ran for the door. But the hand reached out from behind him and snatched his collar. The man was jerked backward as the hand dragged him back until he was face-to-face with the lead demon.

"Hello, Morett," the demon grinned, baring its teeth.

"Hey, ugly-face," the man called Morett answered back.

The demon's grin got wider. "Now what have I got here? A little rat who thinks he has some teeth. Well, well. Let me show you something." The demon clenched his other hand into a fist and swung it toward Morett. Morett screamed and shut his eyes, expecting the impact, but felt none. He cautiously opened his eyes and saw that the demon's face had stopped just in front of his nose.

"Okay, you're right, I'm sorry! Anything but my handsome face!" Morett spoke in a rush. The demon rumbled with laughter.

"Ah, humans. They break down so easily." The lead demon's barbed tail swung lazily side to side in pleasure. "There’s more to come, Morett. You should never have run away, because now, you’re going to prison to suffer- "

Morett picked up what the demon said. "Wait. We're going to prison?"

"You are. Not me."

"NO!" Morett shouted. "I won't survive a single day there! The inmates will beat me and torture me, and the guards will lock me up in solitary -"

The demon grinned. "Oh, trust me when I say this prison has terrible, terrible punishments, far surpassing anything you can ever imagine. You will simply have to experience it yourself.”

Morett felt a chill run down his spine. Somewhere deep inside his gut, he could tell that this demon with the necktie was telling the truth. The demons walked out of the coffee shop, with the lead demon still holding Morett in the air. They carried him to three vans on the parking lot, all ominously painted and tinted black, which Morett assumed passed for a police car around here - even though it looked more like a kidnapper's vehicle.

The demon with the necktie slammed Morett against the van while the other demon handcuffed his wrist. After he was all tied up, he was thrown unceremoniously to the back of the van.

Inside, the van was steel gray, with metal bars separating the driver and the prisoner's seat. The prisoner’s seat was just a square cage, with neither seats nor seatbelts. Morett discovered, to his surprise and delight, that there was a door handle on the door. As he struggled up to reach the handle, the van rumbled to life and began to move. Morett stumbled backward but caught himself just in time before he slammed into the metal bars. He adjusted himself in the moving vehicle, and reached out to the handle again.

Morett grasped it, and put his weight on the handle on the right as the car turned a corner.

The handle did not bulge.

Undaunted, Morett tried again, this time on the handle to the left. Nothing. Frustrated, Morett threw himself against the door with a thump. Still nothing.

One of the lackeys glanced at him. "Maybe we should tie his legs too," he said.

"Ha! Let him struggle," the burly demon answered, keeping his eyes on the road.

Morett kept slamming against the door as the van made its way down the highway. The demons yelled at him to be quiet, but Morett ignored them and continued his tirade against the unmoving door. Several times he stumbled as the van swerved left and right, but Morett kept on pounding.

After several minutes, Morett felt the van slow down. As he was about to slam onto the door again, it flung open on its own, and Morett was thrown outside and onto the hot asphalt floor. He looked up to see the burly demon standing over him.

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" The burly demon growled. He grabbed Morett by the collar and lifted him up to a standing position. Morett blinked his eyes to adjust back to the sunlight and looked around at the surroundings.

They were in the parking lot with nothing in sight except a very tall fence surrounding the cube-like building. The ominous cube was also black like the colors of the van, and almost seemed to suck in the crimson sunlight. As Morett swallowed, the lead demon turned to him and smiled wickedly.

"Welcome, Morett. To hell within Hell!"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

After Morett was stripped of his clothes and forced to dress in gray-striped uniforms, he was lined up with other prisoners - most of them human, with a few demons in between - and then were led into a long corridor, and into another pristine room with fluorescent light hanging from above. The guard demon, wearing a pitch-black uniform, twirled his baton while the prisoners exchanged nervous looks.

"Welcome to my Hell, vermin!" the guard shouted. "You are here because you fucked up - and now, it’s our turn to fuck you up. And after we’re done, you’ll be nice little rats once again." The guard grinned maliciously. “I’m already looking forward to tearing you to pieces and stitching you back.”

As soon as that short speech was over, Morett and the others were ushered out and led through another hallway. As he walked down the hallway and through several stairs, always heading downward, he tried to imagine what kind of punishment was waiting for him. Fire? Brimstone? A combination of the two? Or something else entirely?

As the group walked through the last stairway, Morett saw a huge, brass metal door a few feet ahead. Feeling his heart fluttering in his ribcage, Morett braced himself as the guard took out a key and opened the door.

As the door swung open, he could see a very, very big room, full of tables and chairs and inmates folding papers. Morett blinked and took a double take, not believing his own eyes. Was his eyes deceiving him?

No, he was right. The inmates were folding papers.

The rustling filled the room like endless chatter. He could spot numerous paper cranes on the steel buckets next to the inmates. Some of them were putting paper cranes in the bucket, while the others were taking them out one by one.

Well this can't be that bad, Morett thought. He was imagining along the lines of more classical torture, but if this was the punishment they were talking about...

"Oh, you might be laughing now, but you won't be laughing when we're finished." The demon chuckled, leading them into the huge room. He stopped in front of a very long table with nothing but stacks of papers. "Take a seat, everybody," The demon grinned, baring his wolf-like teeth.

Morett, more mortified at the fact that he was being treated like a child than at the prospect of this strange "torture", reluctantly sat down along with others.

"Take a single sheet," the guard, clearly enjoying this too much, ordered.

Morett glanced around, and when he saw others take the paper, he cautiously took a sheet of his own. What, are they going to order him to cut himself with this paper? He sincerely hoped that wasn't the case - he was scared of blood. Well, he wasn't sure if he could bleed at all, given that he was already dead. But that was beside the point.

"Now fold it according to the manual," the demon said.

Morett dejectedly looked at the manual, titled how to fold a paper crane. Really? This was the punishment? He looked around the others who looked just as dumbfounded.

The guard, apparently, was expecting this. He slammed his baton against the table, startling them with a loud bang.

"Fold. The. Paper,” the guard growled.

Reluctantly, the prisoners began to fold the paper. Morett looked at the instruction manual. There were no pictures, only words - but the direction was simple enough.

'Start with the paper face down... fold the top corner to the bottom corner... then fold the right corner to the left...'

Morett began to fold the paper according to instructions, as did others. Soon enough, there were paper cranes in front of everyone. As soon as the last prisoner completed his crane, the guard ordered the prisoners.

"Now unfold it."

The prisoners let out a murmur of discontent, until the guard slammed his baton on the table. Grudgingly, Morett and the rest of the prisoners began to unfold their paper cranes, and eventually only folded papers remained.

The guard grinned maliciously, enjoying every moment.

"Now fold it. Again."

Morett returned to the set one week later. The studio lights were hanging from the ceiling, and the green screen decorated two sides of the walls. It was a familiar sight, not just because he had been here, but also because it resembled so much of the film sets he used to work in back when he was still alive.

The demon who had filmed Morett's tantrum was sitting on the chair near the entrance, tweaking his handheld camera. The demon’s skin was bright red, like every other demons. But his plaid shirt and his sling-on bag set him apart, as well as his thoughtful gaze.

"Hey," the demon said to Morett. "You've been gone for a while. Coming back from the prison, I assume?" the demon asked.

"You don't need to be so cheerful about it," Morett said dejectedly. "Oh God, what have I done to deserve this? I had to fold and unfold those damn paper cranes for eternity... So boring, so unnecessary, so... pointless."

"You're lucky it ended there. Who knows what might have happened if you weren't decent at acting. The higher-ups gave you a second chance, Morett."

Morett's face distorted into a grimace. "Right, Tomato-Face."

"My name's Vixiviyan," the demon replied, now also grimacing.

"Right, Vixi. Well, here's the thing, Vixi - punishments are for other, lesser people. Not me."

"Suit yourself," Vixiviyan replied, still keeping his eyes on the camera.

As soon as Morett walked past Vixi, he saw the director, looking thoroughly pissed, stomping toward him like an enraged elephant. The director stopped right in front of Morett’s face.

"Morett." The director said, hatred dripping from his voice.

"Hello there, cupcake," Morett grinned. "You missed me?"

The director stared at him with daggers in his eyes. They both stood there, one with obvious animosity, the other with false friendliness.

The director broke the silence first.

"I do not know why the Seventy-Two Commanding demons voted to give you a second chance. Your acting is steller, yes - but shouldn't the manner and obedience to higher authority come first?"

"But I am obedient and well-mannered, Mister Director." Morett’s grin widened. "But only to those who deserve it."

"Watch your mouth, human. One day that tongue of yours will get you into a trouble you can't crawl out of."

"I'll decide what to do and what not to do, and what trouble I’ll get in or get out of.”

The demon growled. "I’ll look forward to the day you screw up, then." With that, he walked back to the crew resting on the floor. The crew - mostly demons with a few human actors - grumbled as they stood up.

"Everyone!" The director shouted. "Today we will film the rest of the temptations on the list. To your stations!"

Both the demons and humans scrambled about as they went to their designated place. Vixiviyan went to the camera and began to check if it was working correctly, while Morett was dragged to the corner of the warehouse by a demon and was handed a script. Morett started committing it to memory, whispering the lines to himself and thinking of the scenario.

"Today we're filming a reel for the drunkard, gambling addicts, and kids who want a cookie in the cookie jar. We'll start with the drunkard first. Remember, actors - you have to act with all your heart and soul, otherwise the recording will lack authenticity. Morett!" the director came to him. "You're going to be the lead actor today. Take the stage."

Morett walked to the center of the green screen as demons laid out the props before him. They rolled in a counter filled with various bottles filled with alcohol. The ceiling lights turned on, shining down on both Morett and the counter.

Once everybody was ready, the director began to give out instructions.

"You're an alcoholic who is standing at a bar. You think of your family and friends, and the promise you made to them, and think that you really shouldn't be here. But you find your feet leading you to what you crave. Soon you see a bottle, and you think, just one more. Just one more until I quit for good. Morett, try to really capture that delusion. Now ready... set... action!"

This is stupid, Morett thought. Stuffing his frustration down in his heart, Morett walked toward the counter. He picked up the bottle and...

"CUT!" The director shouted. He strode up to Morett and shouted, "You're doing it again. Clear your annoyance, it's muddling the reels!"

"Me? Annoyed? I’m not annoyed," Morett said, faking a surprised look.

"But you are. I can tell because the camera captures your emotions as well as the imagery," Vixi explained in a monotone voice.

This surprised Morett. "You mean to say your camera is magic?"

"Not magic. Just technology."

Morett laughed. "Well, well. That might make things more interesting. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because you haven't asked," Vixiviyan answered.

Morett sighed. "Oh, Vixi. Boring as always." Morett turned to the director and said, "very well, cupcake. Let's start from the beginning."

The director signaled the rest of the crew, and they began to move about busily.  Once everyone was ready, the director shouted, "Ready... set... action!" The spotlight illuminated Morett again, and this time, he took a deep breath and summoned his inner desire.

Morett stared hungrily at the glinting bottle. He walked slowly toward it and caressed it in his embrace. He could see the shimmering liquid inside. Morett swallowed, imagining himself taking a sip. Slowly, he ran a finger along its icy exterior, feeling the tingle of the cold glass.

"Just one more," Morett said. "Just one more should be fine."

He took off the cork, placed the opening on his lips, and began to tilt the bottle very slowly...

"CUT!" the director yelled. "That's good enough."

Morett glared at the director, furious over the fact that he didn't even get a single sip. The director ignored Morett and shouted, "Now let's move onto the beer!"

The devils took the wine away from his hands and placed a beer onto the counter. All the while Morett kept glaring, but the director ignored him.

Vixi stepped in front of Morett and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Morett. Take a deep breath."

Morett wasn’t in the mood to listen to some demon, but Morett realized nothing good would come out if he fought against the director. Morett shut his eyes and took a deep, slow breath, then exhaled through his mouth. After doing that five or six times, he could feel the trick working on him. Feeling much calmer, he opened his eyes to see that everything was already set up.

"Alright, everyone! Ready... set... start!"

The spotlight shone on Morett and the can of beer. Morett briefly closed his eyes and imagined it- how refreshing it would be to take a sip, even just one. The tantalizing sensation gripped him, as if he was a desert traveler craving a sip of water. With his fingers trembling, he reached out and grasped the can. He tore the lid open, and -

"CUT!"

Morett whipped around and glared at the director, as the director's tail swung around side to side.

"Now, we'll do the same with vodka."

It took a very special kind of willpower for Morett to not jump on the director and strangle him. The demons took away the beer and placed the vodka on the counter, while Morett walked over to somewhere more secluded and furiously gulped in breath after breath in an attempt to calm himself. The camera would catch his fury and expose him if he didn’t. As Morett hyperventilated in the corner, the demons moved busily about, setting up the next scene.

"Morett! Return to the set. Everything's prepared," the director shouted not long after. By then Morett returned to his usual self and he took center stage again. The light lit up again and the director held up his clapperboard.

"Ready... set... start!"

With a resounding snap, the glass of vodka shone like a diamond under the studio light like a hidden treasure. The feeling of thirst returned, and Morett slowly walked toward the vodka, feeling the craving in his muscles.

"Just one sip," Morett said. He lifted the glass and held it to the empty air. The golden liquid almost seemed to shimmer like an elixir of life. Morett brought the glass to his lips, and...

"CUT!"

The demon quickly snatched the glass away. The expectation did not lessen the disappointment. Morett had enough fury to kill every living thing - both up there and down here.  Oblivious to Morett's fury, the director turned to a demon standing next to the camera and asked, "Denny! How many do we have left?"

Denny pulled out a paper and counted something on it, then answered.

"Forty-five."